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More Murder Misstery © 2007 by Nom de Plume For those who missed A Murder Misstery, Matt McCoy - now Maddy - is on the run for a crime he did not commit, and a murder which she did.... As the saga continues, Maddy's train is just pulling into Amsterdam. By the author of The Jessica Project. I woke up with a start to polite but persistent tapping on the door of my first class sleeping compartment. "Zehn Minuten bis Amsterdam Centraal," a man was saying. After he repeated his warning in Dutch, I finally heard, "Ten minutes to Amsterdam." I wrapped my robe around my shoulders, checked to make sure my wig was on straight, and cautiously opened the door a few inches to retrieve my passport. "Guten Morgan, Fr?ulein," the conductor said. "Thank you," I stammered in a woman's voice before I slammed the door. Ten minutes! A few days ago, that would have been do big deal for Matt McCoy, but how was Maddy ever going to get herself dressed and made up in ten minutes? Relax Fr?ulein, I told the tousle-haired woman in the mirror. They're not going to kick a first-class passenger off the train before she's had time to make herself beautiful. You're a rich bitch now, act like one! My cozy little compartment had its own toilet and sink, and soon my teeth were brushed, the stubble was gone from my face, and I was ready to transform myself into a woman once again. The train was still lurching over the points approaching the station, do I decided to get dressed before putting on my makeup. Hmm...what does a girl wear to score a fake ID in the back streets of a notorious European city? Thanks to my girlfriend Tracy, my wardrobe was ultra- feminine, but I finally settled on a thin turtleneck sweater, a knee- length skirt, and since I'd be doing a lot of walking, my comfy flats. A peek through the curtains confirmed that it was gray and drizzly, much like the weather I'd left behind in Chicago, so my black trench coat would complete the look. I put on a fresh pair of panties, filled a bra with my wonderful silicone breast forms, and sat down on the bed to ease on a pair of sheer black pantyhose. I was still fascinated by how sexy they made my legs look, and I had a pang of longing for the way Tracy used to tease and please me when I dressed this way...would I ever see her again? And if I ever did, would there be anything left of the man she used to love? With those morose thoughts I pulled on my sweater, zipped up my skirt and stepped into my dainty shoes. I rummaged through my suitcase for a scarf and some jewelry, and by the time I was finished dressing we'd come to a stop. I was getting better and better at doing my makeup and styling my wig, so in no time at all a pretty young woman was towing her suitcase behind her through the bustling railroad station. After quick stop at a station caf? for coffee and a Dutch breakfast that looked and tasted like an Egg McMuffin, I checked my suitcase and left the station, taking some time to get my bearings. Eventually I found a tram to my first stop, a wig store on Prinsengracht, a narrow street fronting on one of the canals. I got there a few minutes before they opened, and killed some time smoking a cigarette as I gazed out at the houseboats. My skirt and stockings were no match for the raw winter weather, and I stamped my feet in the cold as I waited impatiently for the shopkeeper to arrive. When the door finally opened, I spent a few minutes looking around self- consciously before a middle-aged woman approached me. "Can I help you, miss?" she asked. Good thing everyone in Holland seemed to speak English! "Yes, I need a good wig that will be easy to take care of and style." "I recommend one of our top-quality synthetics. Is there a particular style and color?" "Yes. My natural hair is dark brown, and I want it much longer than this," I said, pointing to my short blonde wig. "Of course, if you will follow me to one of our private rooms, let me find you a wig cap and we can try some on." Even in the privacy of the booth she led me to, it was humiliating to remove my wig and sit before her with a man's haircut in women's clothing. Obviously she had seen it all before, and in no time she was back with an armful of mannequin heads, each featuring long brown hair. One after another, I let her try them on me, until she showed me one that looked and felt just right. The brunette looking back at me in the mirror was strikingly attractive, and her hair would be long enough to pull back into a ponytail when she was in a hurry. Most important, her hair was similar to the way mine used to look when I wore it long in college, so when I grew it out again, pictures of me in the wig would match the way I was going to be. I paid for the wig with a travelers check and wore it out of the store, tossing Ashley's borrowed blonde wig into the canal. Then I retraced my steps to the station, where I had spotted a shop specializing in passport photos. Twenty minutes later I was riding on a different tram towards a seedy neighborhood frequented by foreign students, illegal ?migr?s, and assorted criminals. The address I'd found in an Internet chat room, where several satisfied customers had remarked about the proprietor's skill and complete discretion. He must have been surprised when a wholesome-looking American girl knocked on the door of his upstairs flat, but his poker face revealed nothing until I got straight to the point. "I need a passport." "What makes you think I can help you?" "You are highly recommended, and I will pay whatever it takes." That got his attention, and after he took a quick look behind me to make sure I wasn't part of a sting operation, he let me into his shabby apartment. I scanned the tables and shelves piled high with print stock in various colors while he locked and bolted the door behind me. He was still wary, so I pulled Ashley's passport out of my purse and put my new photos next to it. "Do you do American passports?" "It's possible." "I need one, today, with this picture." "Today is out of the question." "What is your price?" "Ten thousand euros." I knew from the chat room that he was asking considerably more than his going rate, but I didn't flinch. "Only if I can have it today. Here is the name and address you are to use." I handed him a slip of paper with the name Madison Monroe, an obscure porn star whose work I enjoyed, and a date and place of birth slightly different from my own. Then I put Ashley's passport back in my purse and started counting out ten thousand euros in travelers checks. "I only accept cash." "Fine. I'll cash them myself and return this afternoon. Shall we say three o'clock?" He nodded, and I waited for him to unbolt the door before I let myself out. Once again I retraced my steps to the station, only this time I went to the ticket office and booked a seat in the name of Maddy Monroe on the high-speed train leaving for Paris at 5:00. After I found a bank and cashed the travelers checks, I wandered the quaint streets of Amsterdam, looking for an out-of-the-way place for lunch. I finally selected a small Indonesian restaurant, where I ordered a rice dish with spicy condiments and a split of French Chardonnay. This would be my life from now on, I reflected as I sipped my wine with a cigarette. Although I looked completely different now as a brunette, it was only a matter of time before the FBI picked up my trail in Zurich, and I wanted to keep a low profile until I was safely out of Amsterdam. My original impulse in coming to Amsterdam was to admit myself to a gender identity clinic, and begin therapy to turn myself into a woman, but I had a new plan now, and I wanted to put some time and distance between my old life and my new one before I took that fateful step. I was obviously passable as a woman the way I was, and with my new identity and appearance, there would be nothing to link me to the stolen passport I'd used to flee the USA as a blonde named Ashley. After lunch I killed some more time window shopping. The department stores were already full of spring fashions, and I found myself wondering what I would look like in a sundress and sandals...and what it would feel like to wear them. One thing was for certain: I'd had enough cold weather to last me a lifetime, and if I had to start my life over as a woman, it was going to be in a warm, sunny climate. On an impulse I went inside De Bijenkorf and rode the escalator up to the women's department. There were racks of summer dresses, and before I knew it, I was in a fitting room trying one on. It was so cute on me! Only it looked strange with my black leather flats, and I'd need a purse to match my new sandals, and a necklace to go with my dress.... An hour later, when I went back into the cold, I felt a little warmer thinking about the sundress and other girly things in my shopping bags. "You should have been a girl," Tracy once told me. Maybe she was right after all! When I went back outside, I started walking down the sidewalk when I experienced a sensation I'd never felt before. It was the pitter-patter of raindrops on the tops of my feet, coming right through my stockings. Just another of the many joys of being a woman.... I went back to the department store and bought a ladies umbrella to protect my new hairdo. Then I found an electronics store for one more acquisition: a throwaway cell phone with a number that was good throughout Europe. I selected an ultra-slim model and prepaid for several months of airtime. I thought about trying to call Tracy, but I didn't know whether my location could be traced, so I abandoned the thought for then. At precisely 3:00 I knocked on the door of the forger's flat. He admitted me immediately, and as soon as the door was closed he presented me with a flawless US passport featuring me with long brown hair, gender female. I complimented him on his handiwork, gave him his ten thousand euros, and let myself out. Ashley's passport joined her wig in the canals of Amsterdam. I made it back to the station with a few minutes to spare. After retrieving my suitcase from the left luggage room, I tore off Ashley's old name tag and dropped it into a trashcan. When the FBI turned up in Amsterdam looking for Ashley, her trail would be stone cold. From nowas Maddy Monroe, and until the money ran out, Maddy was going to make the best of her new life. The Thalys express to Paris featured cushy seats with drinks and dinner for first class passengers. After I selected my wine and entree, a steward came by with a selection of newspapers. I scoured the International Herald Tribune from cover to cover for any news about the Wolf murder investigation, but there was nothing. Dinner was excellent, and I must have dozed off afterwards, because the next thing I knew the four hour trip was almost over. My seatmate was a preoccupied businessman who spent most of the time on his cell phone talking to his office, his wife and his mistress. I thought back to the distinguished Frenchman I'd shared a dinner table with the night before, at the Zurich train station. I removed his business card from my purse and studied it for the hundredth time. Dr. Jacques Bochy, endocrinologist...a doctor who specialized in hormones. I wondered how he'd react when I called him from Paris to make an appointment? He'd probably think I was stalking him. I put his card back in my purse and used my cell phone to reserve a suite at the Plaza Athenee, and a taxi to take me there from the Gare du Nord. I slept until almost noon the following morning. It was my first night in a proper bed since I'd murdered Norman Wolf, and any lingering nightmares over what I'd done were snuffed out by jet lag and sheer exhaustion. I stretched lazily in the sumptuous bedding, enjoying the sensation of my satin nightgown against my smooth skin. It was annoying to notice a bit of stubble starting to grow back on my legs, so I threw off the duvet and started to draw a bath in the ornate tub, peppering the water with moisturizing salts provided by the hotel. I spent a long time luxuriating in the soft, hot suds before I tediously shaved my legs, arms, chest and underarms. As I patted myself dry with a thick cotton towel, I thought of the way Tracy shaved my back the day she transformed me in Chicago. Tracy always had my back...I missed her terribly as I made up my face the way she taught me. I wondered if she'd like me as a brunette? I admired myself in the mirror after I brushed my long brown hair, knowing that the answer would be yes. I'd cranked up the heat before I got into the tub, and my suite was stifling by the time I got out of the bathroom. Sundress weather! I was curious to see how my new ensemble came together, so on a whim, after I put on a white bra and panties, I stepped into my summer dress and, with difficulty, zipped it up from behind. My new sandals were very cute and comfortable, although the need for a pedicure was immediately apparent. I fastened my mother-of-pearl necklace from behind, again with difficulty - how did girls put up with this stuff? - then I picked up my white purse and walked over to the full-length mirror on the closet door to see what I looked like. I will never forget that moment. A striking brunette stared back at me in the mirror, with bare shoulders and long legs framed by her pretty little dress. She turned this way and that, mesmerized by how her dress flowed around her knees when she moved. I was almost in a trance, as the realization sunk in that this was really me. Not only did my dress look cute on me, the soft fabric felt wonderful swishing against my bare legs as I walked into the parlor of my suite. I practiced sitting down on the sofa and chairs, crossing my legs and smoothing my dress beneath me, becoming more and more comfortable with myself this way. What started out as a disguise was becoming much, much more.... Hunger pangs finally broke the spell. I turned down the heat and opened the curtains to let in the daylight, such as it was - Paris in February was as gloomy as the weather I'd left behind in Amsterdam. At least it wasn't snowing like Chicago, I mused as I took off my sundress and rummaged through my suitcase for a gray wool dress and a pair of taupe pantyhose. Once again I had that feeling of sinful luxury as I eased the delicate nylons up my freshly shaved legs, and I had to admit that my gnarly toes looked much better encased in stockings. I slid them into heels, swapped out my necklace for one in black and gold, and returned to the parlor to order breakfast from room service. While I was waiting for it to arrive, I switched on the TV and flipped through the stations until I came to CNN. It didn't take long for my world to come crashing down. "International manhunt for Chicago killer..." read the crawl at the bottom of the screen. A reporter was standing outside the railroad station in Amsterdam, describing the bizarre case of a man who disguised himself as a woman to flee the United States, after he allegedly murdered his former accomplice in a conspiracy to defraud elderly investors. Obviously the Chicago police and the FBI had connected the dots: Matt McCoy was suspected of using a stolen women's passport to fly first class from O'Hare to Zurich, and Interpol confirmed that a woman with the same name traveled by train from Zurich to Amsterdam the following day. Thank God I'd used my new identity get out of Amsterdam! There were only two people who might be able to help the police: the forger who created my passport - I had no worries about him talking to anyone - and the woman who sold me my wig. Even if she somehow heard about the investigation and told the police what I looked like now, there were millions of brunettes in Holland, and the odds of them tracking me down in Paris were infinitesimal. Still I was shaken when I heard the rap on my door. It was only the room service waiter with my breakfast. I tipped him well and tried to get something down, my stomach still churning from what I'd learned. Once again I thought of Tracy: she would know by now that I'd lied to her about hiding out in California, and she probably suspected that I'd lied to her about everything else. Knowing that I was taking a terrible risk, I switched on my cell phone and started to punch in her number. Just before I got to the last digit, I stopped myself and put down the phone. If I was going to avoid spending the rest of my life in prison, I couldn't make any silly, sentimental mistakes! The sooner I put Tracy and my life as a man behind me, the better my chances of survival. I picked up my phone again, only this time I used it to call Dr. Jacques Bochy. His receptionist answered. "Halo?" "Hello, my name is Maddy. I met the doctor in Zurich. Can I speak to him please?" The receptionist was undoubtedly accustomed to the doctor's philandering, for she put me through without delay. "Maddy, what a pleasant surprise!" Jacques said when he came on the line. "Hi! You'll never guess where I am," I said with forced girlishness. "Paris would be too much to hope for." "Yep! And I'm calling to make an appointment." "For medical reasons?" "Well, it's kinda personal...do you think you could see me today?" "My appointments are booked weeks in advance, Maddy. However, I do happen to be free for dinner this evening." I wasn't expecting that.... "We can discuss whatever you like, in a quiet setting, and afterwards if you want to see me in my office, I'll fit you in somehow." "Are you sure?" "Where are you staying?" "At the Plaza Athenee." "I'll book a table at Le Relais at seven. Until then." He hung up before I could reply. I spent the day shopping for something to wear. The only thing I owned that was appropriate was the little black dress I'd worn the night I murdered Norman Wolf, and I didn't feel quite right about wearing it again. I might have been a millionairess many times over, but the boutiques of Paris were frightfully expensive, and I couldn't find anything that looked half as good on my rather unique physique. I did splurge on some glittery pantyhose and an exquisite French perfume, and I bit the bullet and had my ears pierced. It hurt more than I expected, and I was very aware of my new platinum studs as I shopped for a Vuitton suitcase to replace the worn out roller bag I stole from Ashley. By the time I paid for it and caught a taxi back to my hotel, it was time to get dressed for dinner. Le Relais is a chic bistro which adjoins the Plaza Athenee. At a few minutes past seven, decked out in my little black dress, shimmering legs and strappy black heels, I showed up for my date with Jacques. He was standing at the bar, and he didn't recognize me at first with my long brown hair. When he did, his face lit up with a big smile, and he took my hands and kissed me on both cheeks. "Maddy! You never cease to surprise and delight me!" I'm sure I was blushing when I kissed him back, and I was at a loss for words after we were shown to a romantic booth in a quiet corner of the crowded bistro. He offered me a cigarette, which he lit with a flourish before lighting up one of his own. "Talk about surprises, I didn't think doctors smoked anymore," I said idotically. "My dear Maddy, there are all kinds of doctors, just as there are all kinds of beautiful women. Take you, for example." "What about me?" I asked as I tried to perform a French inhale. "Well, for one thing, in less than forty-eight hours you have completely changed your appearance, in a dramatic and exciting way. I love that in a woman!" "That's me, dramatic and exciting. I love this place," I said, taking in the smart furnishings and the well-heeled customers. "It suits you. You look fabulous in that dress." "Thanks," I said, blushing again. He had deep brown eyes, and a penetrating stare which seemed to go right through me. "I tried to find a new one today, but can you believe the boutiques of Paris didn't have a dress I liked?" "That says more about you than the boutiques of Paris, Maddy." "What's that supposed to mean?" He squeezed my hand. "That you are a unique and discriminating person." The wine list arrived, and he ordered decisively before resuming our conversation. "That is one of the many things I find fascinating about you." "To tell you the truth, I wasn't even sure you would remember me." He chuckled softly. "To the contrary, how could I forget you?" The waiter returned with our wine, and Jacques waited until it was served before continuing. "As a doctor, I am trained in observation. Let's add up what I have noticed so far: You are undeniably beautiful, with a very athletic physique, which I find attractive in a woman. Also you have a flair for style, take your hair for example, although you obviously must rely on wigs." I started to choke on my wine. "Then there is the charming way you have of doing the little things that come naturally to most women. For example, when we said goodbye in Zurich, you forgot your purse. Very unusual." I could feel the tears starting to run down my cheeks, wondering why he was subjecting me to this humiliation. Jacques saw them too, and he removed the silk handkerchief from his breast pocket and gently wiped them away. "My darling Maddy," he whispered, "please don't be upset. Nobody in the world except a doctor trained in my specialty could possibly detect your secret." I tried to get up to leave. He gently but firmly sat me back down and spoke before I could protest. "Maddy, I have treated hundreds of men who wished to become women. Some of them have gone on to careers in the theatre, broadcasting, even modeling. I can say without exaggeration that you are the most innately feminine man I have ever met." His words cut me like a knife, and the tears started again. "What fascinates me about you is your obvious unwillingness to accept this. It's almost as if you are becoming a woman against your will, even though you must know, deep down, that it is your destiny." The waiter returned to take our orders. Perhaps he thought we were having a lovers' quarrel, they way Jacque kept wiping the tears from my eyes, and he stood patiently while Jacques ordered for both of us. My head was spinning so fast that I couldn't think about food, where I was or what I was doing. When we were alone again, Jacques pressed on. "By whatever chance, you have discovered this about yourself, and it terrifies you. Maddy, I don't have to know why you are dressed as a woman. If you want me to help you fulfill you destiny, it is within my power to do so. Now, let's enjoy our wine and dinner and talk about other things." I excused myself to go to the ladies room. My mascara was a mess, and I needed a few minutes alone to think. Okay, so Jacques had made me as a woman. After all he was used to working with transsexuals. The same thing would have come out during a five minute consultation in his office. Instead it happened to me while I was wearing a little black dress in a romantic restaurant! The end result was the same: I needed his help, and he seemed more than willing to provide it. Looking at myself in the mirror, at the beautiful woman I was in the process of becoming, I knew the real reason I was so upset: Jacques had confirmed my innermost fears about myself. Through a bizarre set of circumstances I had unleashed my inner woman, and she was slowly but surely taking over my existence. When I returned to our table, Jacques was patiently waiting for me, along with our entrees. "You look lovely," he reassured me. "Thank you. I'm so sorry for the way I reacted." I lifted my fork and tasted my filet of sole. It was delicious. "Nonsense," he said between bites. "If you think you are emotional now, wait until I put you on hormones." I put down my fork and took his hand. "You are amazing. How did you know that's what I wanted?" He chuckled softly again. "It is my profession. I can write you a prescription tonight. After we finish our dinners, of course. Then there is the little matter of your physical examination, which I am technically required to perform." "Oh. Where do I go for that?" "Your room at the Plaza Athenee will be perfectly satisfactory." After coffee and dessert, Jacques escorted me through the hotel lobby and up to my suite. He seemed impressed, and said so. "As I observed, you have a flair for style." I sat down nervously on the sofa. "Do you really have to examine me?" "Relax, Maddy. There are many ways to examine the human body." I had no idea where this might be going, but I was curious to find out. I liked him, he seemed genuinely interested in helping, and I was intrigued by his interest in me. I unstrapped my heels and stretched out on the sofa, propping my glittering legs up on a pillow. "What did you have in mind?" He sat down beside me on the sofa and gently stroked my legs through my nylons. I felt the same intense excitement I'd experienced when Tracy did that to me, only now I was with a man....he leaned down and brushed his lips against mine, softly at first, then again with surprising passion. After a moment's hesitation I responded the same way, drowning in a whirlpool of conflicting emotions. Then he had my dress off my shoulders and he was slowly but surely pulling it down, down...I gasped when he tugged my pantyhose and panties to my knees, and we both stared as my penis sprang to attention. "Ooh la la!" Jacques exclaimed. He took it into his hands and stroked it tenderly. "Maddy," he whispered, "depending on what I prescribe, this may no longer be possible. Are you sure you want that?" "No," I whimpered. "I can put you on hormones which will enable you to develop luscious breasts, and for a time you may not be able to experience erections like this, but once your breasts have blossomed, it should be possible again. Is that what you really want?" "Yes," I groaned. "Very well. Now you see why a physical examination was necessary." He gave me a few expert tugs and I erupted onto my hairless chest, splattering my brassiere with gobs of hot semen. The waves of guilty pleasure quickly passed, and I felt embarrassed and ashamed while he wrote out my prescription, his manner suddenly quite clinical. I took the prescription from him, still lying half naked on the sofa, bewildered by his change in manner. "You see, Maddy, you are not the only one who has to deal with conflicting emotions," he sighed. "I am happily married, yet I find myself hopelessly drawn towards a woman like you. Perhaps when your body has changed to match your psyche, I will find the courage to fulfill my destiny also. Until then, au revoir." I lay there sobbing while he let himself out of my suite. I was up early the next morning, determined to wash away my memories of the night before under a hot shower. After dressing quickly in a skirt, sweater and tights, with very little makeup, I practiced twisting my long brown hair into a ponytail. The resulting look was that of a casual young woman on the go, her inner demons hidden somewhere deep below. A croissant and coffee at Le Relais brought back unpleasant memories. I couldn't believe that I'd kissed a guy, and let him touch me down there. Then again, I had to admit to myself that the kiss was no different than kissing a girl, and it actually seemed natural to me when I was dressed this way. I reached into my purse for my prescription for female hormones. Once I started taking them, I'd be past the point of no return. Although if I was honest with myself, I had to admit that I was past that point already. I asked the concierge to point me towards the nearest drug store. There I waited while Dr. Jacques Bochy's prescription was filled. He'd written it to give me a good supply to start with, and I confirmed with the pharmacist that it was refillable anywhere in Europe. As soon as I was back in my suite, I gulped down the first pill and packed my new Vuitton suitcase. Then I was off in a taxi to Charles de Gaulle, where an airplane was waiting to take me to the sunshine. * * * Six months later I woke as always to the sound of a distant rooster. I'd come to envy him, as my manhood slowly slipped away, and this morning was no exception. While he was getting his rocks off in the henhouse, I went through my now-familiar routines in the bathroom: shampooing my shoulder-length hair, shaving my legs in the tub, and putting on my makeup. After drying and brushing out my hair, I tucked my dwindling manhood into a pair of panties and fastened a bra around my burgeoning breasts. A glance out the window promised another warm, sunny day, so I put on the sundress I'd brought with me from Amsterdam, and padded barefoot into the kitchen of my villa in the hills of Provence. I gazed out the kitchen window at the distant ribbon of Mediterranean Sea, just visible through the thick canopy of trees. If I'd intended to stay any longer, I would have asked the landlord to trim them back, but today was to be my last day in this little paradise, so I left them for the next tenant to deal with. When I moved in back in February, I'd made a list of ambitious projects to occupy my time here, and I looked at it sadly after I made my morning coffee. The only things I'd managed to grow weren't in the garden: a full head of lustrous brown hair, and a proud pair of large, lovely breasts. Even with my new figure, my weight was down ten pounds, and my expanding hips made my girlish waist look even smaller. Thanks to the hormones prescribed by Jacques, my skin was much softer and smoother, and after several sessions with an electrologist in Nice, my beard was a distant memory. My legs were tanned to a golden bronze, and I couldn't remember that last time I'd worn stockings. With a sigh I slipped into a pair of canvas espadrilles - much cuter on my feet than sandals - and made my way into a small office with the computer I'd purchased in Nice shortly after I moved in. As always I began by searching the Internet for news about the international manhunt for me. The Wolf murder was old news by now, and as far as I could tell, the authorities were still floundering in their attempts to pick up my trail. I wondered if they were still monitoring Tracy's emails? Despite all the publicity, she stubbornly believed in my innocence, although my family had long ago disowned me. Other than my daily trips to the market in Provence, my email correspondence with Tracy was my only form of human interaction. I longed to see her again, to show her what I'd become. She seemed fascinated by my veiled accounts of my transformation, and I remembered how turned on she'd been the first time she dressed me in her clothes. The sex we had that day was the best in my life, and I sadly tried to remember that last time I'd had an erection. I desperately longed to be with Tracy again, only not as sisters....I sent her a brief email confirming our upcoming plans, then I logged off and removed the hard drive from my computer. It didn't take long to pack my worldly possessions into my Vuitton suitcase. I'd weeded out most of my winter clothes by now, assembling a stylish wardrobe of summery outfits during occasional shopping forays on the Riviera. With my emerging curves I was able to wear shorts and capris with confidence, but for some reason I felt more comfortable in skirts and dresses these days. After a long last look around the villa, I left the keys on the kitchen counter, closed the door behind me, and tossed my suitcase into the trunk of my bright red BMW convertible. The drive to Monte Carlo was spectacular, on winding two-lane roads which hugged the rugged coastline. My little car handled them with ease, and I was able to enjoy the view with the wind in my hair. When I was sure no other cars were in sight, I tossed the hard drive deep into a glade. A pretty girl in the red convertible attracts plenty of attention from other drivers and pedestrians, something I'd never get used to. After I crossed the border into Monaco, I pulled over to the side of the road to consult my Michelin guide. The hotel I was looking for was in the heart of Monte Carlo, and with the summer traffic I was very late by the time I left my car with the valet and made my way into the lobby. The elegant Belle ?poque hotel oozed with old money and glamour. Newly rich and newly female, I felt very out of place. I tried to ignore the hungry leers from the men surrounding me on the elevator. At least none of them tried to pinch my ass through my sundress! When I got to the right floor, I took a moment in front of a gilded mirror to brush my hair and freshen my lipstick before I tapped on the appointed door. "Maddy!" Jacques beamed when he opened the door. "Mon Dieu, fantastique!" "Sorry I'm late. You look nice." And he did, in his French blue shirt and paisley ascot. He couldn't take his eyes off my chest, which made me very self-conscious. Better get used to it! "Is that professional interest?" I teased him as I took in my luxurious surroundings. "But of course," he smiled. "You are one of my medical triumphs." Jacques' suite had a spectacular view of the marina. I walked over to the balcony and stared, mesmerized by the armada of enormous yachts lolling in the turquoise water. "Wow," was all I could say. "Wow," he said back as he placed his hands on my bronzed shoulders. I broke free and sat down on an opulent loveseat, swooshing my dress over my knees with practiced grace. I reached into my purse waited for Jacques to light my offered cigarette. "It was so nice of you to meet me here," I said through a veil of smoke. "Paris has been abandoned to the tourists, as always in August. I am vacationing en famille, so it was convenient for me to meet you on the Cote d'Azur, but I would have gone halfway around the world to see you again, Maddy." "You're very sweet." After months of self-absorption, I had become much more confident and familiar with my femininity. "How can I ever repay the man who turned me into a woman?" "I'm sure we can think of something," he replied smoothly. "Champagne?" he asked, popping open a bottle of Piper. I waited for the bubbles to subside before taking a dainty sip. "How are you feeling in your new body?" he probed. "I'm getting used to it, except for one thing." He sat down next to me and took my hand. "What is that, my Cheri?" "Remember when you asked me whether I wanted to...have erections again someday?" He sat up straight, and when he replied, his manner was aloof, professional. "Is that what you really want?" "Jacques, I owe you more than you will ever know." He started to interrupt, but I held up my hand. "It's not the hormones. It's what you said to me that night. For the first time in my life, someone asked me what I really wanted. I've had a lot of time to think about it, and I think I know. Only it may not be what you expect." He studied me curiously after he refilled our champagne glasses. "There are two possibilities," he said at length. "Do you know what they are?" "The first is that I decide to go all the way with this, become your mistress, and live a life of great beauty in France." "Don't think that fantasy hasn't occurred to me, every day and night, since we parted in Paris. But that's not what you want, is it?" "No, Jacques, it isn't." "Is it another man, or a woman?" "A woman, someone who knew me from before. In fact she's the one who first got me into this, and she loves me this way. I want to be able to love her back, Jacques. Can you help me?" "Of course," he said with a forced smile. "In a way, I'm relieved. My behavior towards you has been unforgivable." I tried to cut him off. "I should never have allowed myself to become involved with a patient. It's just that you are so damned beautiful...and vulnerable too, at least you were that night we met. But not any more." I leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. "You are the most wonderful man." He pulled a pad out of his pocket and started writing a prescription. "You'll forgive me if we dispense with the physical examination this time," he said dryly. "I am putting you on a much lower dosage of estrogen, a maintenance formula, which will enable you to regain a sufficient level of potency, although most of your problems are in your head. There is no reason why you can't father a child, if you wish." I started to stammer my thanks, but he cut me off. "Take this and go, quickly, before I change my mind and beg you to stay." I put the prescription in my purse and ran out the door, without looking back. Tears were streaming down my face as I drove towards Nice. I'd just thrown away my chance to be the pampered mistress of a prominent physician in Paris, who loved me, and who understood me better than anyone else in the world. I wiped away my tears and reminded myself that there was one other person who knew me even better, and who loved me even more. If what Jacques told me was true, I might even be able to love her again. After I returned my BMW to the leasing office in Nice, I asked if someone could give me a lift to the airport. Three different guys volunteered to take the pretty girl for a drive. By now I'd moved some of my Swiss funds into a French bank account in the name of Madison Monroe. Using one of my new credit cards, I'd booked a seat in business class on the evening British Airways flight to London. My forged passport worked flawlessly once again, and after I checked my suitcase and went through passport control, I killed an hour in the Executive Club prowling the Internet. My encrypted email messages to Tracy linked to a chat room that we used to exchange vital information, and I wanted to make sure there was no last-minute change in plans. Before I logged off, I checked the weather in London. To my dismay I learned that it was going to be unseasonably cold, with frequent showers. The flight to Heathrow was uneventful. I was watching my weight to keep my girlish figure, although I indulged in a split of wine with dinner to calm my nerves. I knew I was taking a terrible risk by leaving my lair, and I felt very vulnerable and exposed in my skimpy little dress. It was cool on the plane, so I wrapped myself up in an airline blanket and fell into a restless sleep. If I thought it was cool on the plane, it was downright cold when we got to London. Rain lashed my window while we taxied to our gate, and as soon I'd passed through customs and immigration and gotten into the taxi rank, I knew that my suitcase full of summer skirts and dresses would be tragic in the English weather. I'm sure the other passengers waiting for their taxis enjoyed the spectacle of the half naked woman pawing through her suitcase for something to put on. I found a thin cardigan sweater, the warmest thing I owned, and draped it over my shivering shoulders. My hotel was in Knightsbridge. I turned in as soon as I got to my room, and I slept until mid-morning. The skies were blessedly clear, although BBC forecast chilly weather and intermittent showers, so I dressed hastily in capris and my sweater, then I placed a quick call to my bank in Zurich before I walked the few short blocks to Brompton Road. Thanks to the miracle of compound interest, my balance had increased by over $100,000, and I transferred most if it into my French account. Good thing, I'd need it! One of the things I almost enjoyed about being a woman was the opportunity to wear the cute clothes that I used to like on chicks. I always had a thing for Burberrys, and before I knew it I was trying on wool skirts and dresses in their trademark plaid. A few thousand pounds later, wearing my new Burberrys trench coat, I was in a taxi back to my hotel, surrounded by shopping bags full of tights, sweaters, purses and shoes to complete my ensembles. Girlish figure or no, I treated myself to an English breakfast at the hotel restaurant, and then I found a pharmacy to fill my new prescription. While I was waiting, I filled a shopping basket with cosmetics, moisturizing lotions, and hair accessories before returning to my room to prepare myself for what was to come. First I shampooed and conditioned my long brown hair. Then a bubble bath and a full body shave, which were becoming much less frequent since the hormones took over. Lingering in the tub, I thought back to Jacques' final words to me: "most of your problems are in your head..." While I soaped what was left of myself in the tub, I wondered I would ever be able to love a woman again? It hardly seemed possible as I dressed myself for the day ahead. My full, round breasts welcomed the caress of a silky black brassiere, and my newly-rounded hips fit snugly into my matching panties. Then I removed the towel from my hair and patiently dried and styled it with my new butterfly clips. Sheer black thigh high stockings were next - I'd almost forgotten how wonderful hose felt on my legs, and I eased them on lovingly. A black cashmere turtleneck sweater, a lacy half slip, my plaid Burberrys skirt, and black pumps with gold stirrups completed my outfit. Looking at the beautiful woman in the full-length mirror, I knew that both Tracy and Jacques were right: I should have been a girl...this was my destiny. After a glance at the clock on the nightstand, I hurriedly put on my jewelry and cologne, organized my purse, and let myself out. Half an hour later I was sitting in the lobby of a bustling commercial hotel when a convoy of flight attendants came through the revolving door. There she was, pulling her suitcase, wearing the same navy blue topcoat that I'd borrowed from her that first day, a lifetime ago. I buried my nose in the Evening Standard and waited until she'd checked in and received her key. After I made sure she wasn't being followed, I got up and fell in behind her as she stood in line at the crowded elevators. As prearranged I said nothing until we were alone in the corridor outside her room. "Tracy," I said in Matt's old voice. She spun around on her heel, and at first she didn't recognize me. "Oh...my...God!" she gasped as she rushed into my arms. Our breasts pressed together, and she momentarily pulled away, a look of astonishment on her beautiful face. "Is that really you?" "Yes," I said ruefully. "It's really me, Tracy." She took me into her arms and hugged me again. I took the key from her quivering hand and opened the door. We tumbled into her room, still locked in an embrace, pawing at each other as we fell onto the bed. I kissed her deeply, and she moaned in response, her fingers caressing my silky hair. "Oh Matt...Maddy...I missed you so much!" "I love you, Tracy," I whispered into her ear. "I love you too, baby," she panted as she tore at my clothes. I felt her hands probing under my skirt, then she was feeling my breasts through my sweater, and pretty soon she was tugging it over my head. I lay back passively and let her explore my new body, sharing in her wonder at what had become of me. When she finally unsnapped my bra, her eyes were fierce with desire, and when she teased my tender nipples with her teeth, for the first time in memory I felt a stirring below my waist. The wonderful glow intensified when she eased my panties down to my knees, although my penis could only tremble softly when she took it into her mouth. I thought back to the words Jacques had spoken to me...it's mostly in your head...and to my wonderment, I felt myself beginning to stiffen as she sucked on me while she caressed my silky stockings. From deep within my body, the beginnings of an orgasm began to grow, softly at first, then suddenly with an urgency that took us both by surprise. Tears filled my eyes when the first delightful spasms shook my body, and I cried out again and again as the sweet waves of ecstasy went on and on. When it was finally over, I sat up and peeled off my stockings. Tracy could only stare at my beautiful body, still in awe over what was happening. I kissed her gently on the lips, and then I started in on her, feeling a strange familiarity as I gently removed her skirt, her lingerie, her stockings...when I caressed her breasts, it was with newfound bliss, and to my complete surprise, I felt myself stiffening again. Tracy felt it too, and we stared at each other in wonder as she guided me into her, bucking her hips to the once forgotten thrusting, our nipples throwing off sparks as our breasts brushed together. My body responding with unbridled joy as I found what I thought I had lost forever, until we both surrendered to shattering, simultaneous orgasms. When our love and lust were completely consumed, we lay side by side for a long time, lost in our separate thoughts. Tracy finally broke the silence. "Just when I thought I might be gay." "Just when I thought I might be a woman." "Just promise me you'll stay this way." "I'm afraid I don't have any choice." "When are you coming back to clear your name?" It was the question I'd been dreading. "Tracy, I have to tell you something." Her voice became guarded. "What is it?" "I lied to you." "About what?" "About that night with Norman Wolf. Tracy, he really did set me up. But when I went to his apartment that night, there was an accident. I never meant to do it, but I killed him." She didn't respond for a long time as it slowly sank in. "When are you going to turn yourself in?" she asked at length. "I can't, Tracy. They'll never believe that it was really an accident." "How do I know whether to believe you now? My God, you killed a man! How can you live with yourself?" How could I begin to explain what it was like, throwing away my identity, my family, even my manhood...looking over my shoulder every day, one small mistake away from spending the rest of my life in an Illinois prison? "If you keep running, you can never go back home...how are you going to support yourself?" No one in the world knew the answer to that question but me. Norman Wolf had covered up his crimes brilliantly, and the contents of his safe were an unsolved mystery. And I didn't want Tracy to know. How could I ever be sure of her love if it came with the knowledge of my hidden millions? I bit my tongue and remained silent. "I just can't believe you think you're going to get away with it. Do you know how many times I've spotted the FBI or the cops watching me, wondering if they were tapping my phone or opening my mail? I just can't live like this, Matt." "What are you saying, Tracy?" "Go! Get out, dammit, before I call the police myself. You frighten me...." Her voice trailed off in fits of sobbing, before she got up and slammed the bathroom door behind her. When she finally returned I was almost dressed. She watched silently as I slipped my stockings back on and stepped into my heels. I started to say something, but she cut me off. "I just can't believe that you did this to me. It was one thing to ask me to help you, but to expect me to help you get away with murder?" Her sobs started again, and I let myself out without saying goodbye. Terry's recriminations were ringing in my ears as I took the long way back to my hotel. It was raining again, but I didn't take out my umbrella. I buried my hands in the pockets of my trench coat and stared at my feet, like I did the first time I went out with Tracy as a woman, feeling utterly miserable and very alone. I pulled myself together after I got back to my room. Packing quickly, I called for my bill and a taxi to Waterloo Station, were the last Eurostar to Paris would soon be boarding. After I bought my ticket, I showed my passport to the French border police, passed through the security line, and found my seat in one of the first class carriages. As I picked at my meal, I thought back despondently over my disastrous rendezvous with Tracy. If only I'd kept my big mouth shut! But the more I thought about it, the more I knew that I had to tell her the truth if there was to be any future for us, and in a way I was relieved at the finality of it all. With the last of my testosterone sapped by our incredible lovemaking, the woman deep within me was asserting herself once again, and she knew what she wanted. Coolly I recounted what I'd conveyed to Tracy about my whereabouts. All she knew was that I was living in Europe and using the name Maddy. Of course she also knew that I'd grown my hair and developed breasts, but she knew nothing about my fake identification, the full name I was using, or the fortune stashed away in my Swiss bank account. I didn't think she'd turn on me, but even if she did, it would only lead the authorities on another wild goose chase, in London this time. I closed my eyes and replayed our lovemaking once again. It was wonderful, amazing...but I had to be honest with myself. Kissing Tracy had been less exciting than kissing Jacques, which seemed strangely natural to me now. There was something tantalizing about being the passive one, yielding willingly to his passion, and I wondered what it would be like to give myself to him completely.... My reverie was shattered when we shot past a Eurostar racing in the opposite direction, each of us moving at almost 200 miles per hour through the French countryside. Less than three hours after we left London, we were pulling into the Gare du Nord. I took a taxi to the Plaza Athenee once again, and asked if the same suite was available. It was. The nasty weather followed me across the channel. I waited until nine o'clock before calling Dr. Bochy's office. His officious receptionist answered at once. "Halo?" "This is Maddy Monroe. Is the doctor in?" "No Mademoiselle, he is still on holiday." "There is a problem with a prescription he gave me. Can you please ask him to call me at his earliest convenience?" "What sort of problem?" "Please just give him the message. It's urgent." I gave her the number of my suite at the Plaza Athenee and rang off. I was trying to decide what to wear when the telephone rang. "Maddy," Jacques said. "What are you doing in Paris?" "Waiting for you." "According to my office, there is a problem with your new prescription." "I lied." "I see...what about your lady friend?" "I'm afraid she lost out to your fantasy woman." "Hmm...this is serious. Fortunately I can return to Paris this afternoon, and this time a physical examination will definitely be necessary." "Le Relais at seven?" "Until then." This time the boutiques of Paris didn't disappoint me. When I entered the packed bistro a few minutes past seven, I turned the heads of half the men in the room. Jacques was waiting for me at the same romantic booth, and he beamed at the sight of me in my frilly white confection. "You look sensational!" "Do you like my new dress?" I did a little twirl before I sat down beside him in a froth of tulle. "I bought it just for you." "I adore it on you." He kissed my hand, lingering a few inches away from my breasts, which were barely contained by my halter top. "I'm up here," I teased him. For once he was the one who blushed, and we shared a moment of silent contentment after he lit our cigarettes. "I hope you didn't end your vacation just for me." "Duty calls. Madame Bochy was prevailed upon by her mother to stay in Monte Carlo for another week," he winked conspiratorially. Jacques must have ordered champagne before I came in, and I offered a toast after our glasses were filled. "To your mother-in-law," I said with a sly grin. "How appropriate... they use this champagne to christen battleships." We laughed at our silly jokes as we drank, staring at each other over the rims of our glasses. "Tell me Maddy," he asked at length, "what made you come back?" I felt totally at ease with Jacques, so I bared my soul to him. "When I was a man, sex was the most important thing in the world to me. The day after I told you goodbye forever, I had it once again. Don't get me wrong, it was wonderful, but afterwards...." "Go on, Maddy." "That's not what I want any more." "And what is it that you want, Maddy?" "I want it all, Jacques. If I have to live the rest of my life as a woman, I don't want to be half a man. I want you to make me into your woman." There, I'd said it! I started to sniffle, and Jacques produced his handkerchief once again. The wait staff at Le Relais must have thought he was a brute. "I'm sorry, Jacques, I'm so screwed up!" "To the contrary, you are the most insightful person I have ever met, man or woman. When I think of your metamorphosis during those lonely months in your cocoon in Provence...it is time to spread your wings, my little butterfly." He lifted my chin and pressed his lips against mine. The world stopped as we lost ourselves in a French kiss, exploring each other like we were the only two people in the world. I pressed my legs against his, and when he touched my naked knees, I slid his hand closer and closer to my forsaken jewels.... When at last we opened our eyes, a waiter was standing by our table, regarding us with amusement. Once again Jacques ordered for both of us, and when he spoke to me again, he was very much the man in charge. "We've much to do. Tomorrow morning, I will refer you to a gifted surgeon who has performed many miracles for my patients." I must have looked startled, because he quickly added, "Don't worry, Cheri. There is a mandatory waiting period, during which you will be required to live completely as a woman under my care. In the afternoon I will show you a furnished apartment in the 5th Arrondissement that was recently vacated by an acquaintance of mine...." "I don't need a gilded cage, Jacques. There are some things about me that you should know...." He dismissed me with a wave of his hand. "I have never understood the American mania for 'closure'. Whatever demons pursued you into my world are hereby pronounced dead on arrival in Paris. Carpe diem." I yielded to him with a girlish shrug. "I'm going to have to learn French." "Actually, it's Latin, from a poem by Horace." He recited it from memory: Don't ask, it's dangerous to know what end the gods will give you Better just to deal with whatever comes your way Whether you'll see many more winters Or whether the last one is now pelting the shore with the waves Be wise, drink your wine, scale back your long hopes to the moment Even as we speak, jealous time is running away from us Seize the day, trusting little in the future. By the author of The Jessica Project